


a distraction

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Goddess/Champion Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: The Champion of the Raven Queen requests a distraction.





	a distraction

**Author's Note:**

> don’t read this if you’re under 18

“What do you need from me, my Champion?” The Matron of Ravens is massive and masked, looming over him like a beacon in the vast, unbreakable darkness that envelopes them both. Her Champion is on his knees, head craned in a respectful bow. For the first time, he has summoned her. She is interested in answering his prayers, so long as they remain within the realms of natural fate. 

He lifts his head. “A distraction,” he says, and then he worries his bottom lip between his teeth before adding, “Could you come down here? Like, could you be mortal-sized?”

She obliges with his request; the dream pocket they are currently inhabiting twists for a moment to accommodate her size change, and then she has the body and stature of a mortal woman, of the mortal woman she once was. She keeps her mask in place. 

She crosses the distance to her Champion in a handful of strides, and he makes no move to stand. “What kind of distraction would you like me to provide?” she asks, and her voice does not encompass the space anymore, although she could retain that volume in this form if she desired. She does not ask why he needs a distraction. It seems irrelevant. 

He stares up at her for a moment, and something he sees makes his brows furrow. Before she can ask, he says, “The mask. Could you take it off?” 

She waves a hand across the front of her face, and her mask disappears. She prefers to wear her mask when communing with mortals, but her Champion is no average disciple. And he has seen her without it before. It does not bother her to grant his small requests. 

“I…” he starts, but he trails off. She thinks he looks almost shy, which is strange. She cannot recall him being shy around her at any other point. 

She lays a hand on his head, and when he leans toward the touch, she runs her fingers through his hair. “Tell me what distraction you think I can provide.”

“I don’t-,” he says, “but I want- I mean, could we- dammit,” he breaks off and gives a humorless breath of laughter. “I’m not usually this terrible at asking,” he mumbles, and his gaze drops away from her face. 

“Speak,” she says, “and do not fear my response. There is little you could ask that would upset me.” 

Her Champion gives another humorless laugh, this one nervous. “Could we fuck?” 

Well. She had no precise expectations for his request, and yet she still finds herself surprised. She deliberates silently for a moment; he would not be the first mortal she’s bedded, but most of the others have not been her worshippers. But then, he is no average worshipper, either. He is her Champion. She already has a deep fondness for him. And he is not unattractive. She wonders how long he has been building to this, and how she did not notice. She also cannot help but wonder what pushed him into asking today, which is a tension that hangs over him like a long-cast shadow.

Her Champion takes her internal deliberation as disapproval; after a few moments pass with no response, he starts talking, words pouring out of his mouth where he struggled to find them before. “I didn’t mean to insult you or anything, my Lady. I’m not sure where the boundaries are for goddess-champion relationships, but I have a feeling I completely overstepped them. I’m sorry-”

“Vax’ildan,” she interrupts. He stops talking. “You have not overstepped. Many deities take mortals as lovers,” she does not miss the way his eyes widen at her word choice, “or simply take them to bed.”

“Oh.”

“If I had known of your interest, I would have suggested it myself.” 

“Oh.” He blinks. “So you aren’t offended?”

“No,” she says, and centuries of restraint keep her from laughing at the smile appears on her Champion’s face. He’s beaming. “Stand.”

“Actually, I was hoping to start here,” he says, and he doesn’t look her in the eye as he adds, “on my knees.” She senses that he is a tad embarrassed by this desire.

“Do not feel ashamed,” she says, and she brushes her fingers deeper into his hair, loosely twirling some of the strands. “There is no shame in submission, nor in wanting to pleasure a partner.”

Her Champion takes a sharp breath, one that sounds punch-out at the end. “I’m not ashamed,” he whispers.

She waves her free hand over his shoulder, and he is stripped of his armor. He looks considerably smaller without it; he is built for stealth and speed, and though he has muscle, it is dispersed, lending him a lithe figure more elvish in appearance than human. When she peers closer, she notices he has ink under certain bits of skin: one on each wrist, one on the top of his thigh. She thinks she would like to leave her own marks on him, but that involves a in-depth conversation first, so she tables it. 

She takes her time looking him over, walks around him slowly, always keeping one hand in his hair. She ends up in front of him after a few quiet minutes pass. “Are you alright, my Champion? Answer honestly,” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll tell you if I’m not.” 

She gently pulls his head by his hair, and he offers no resistance. “Fine?”

“Mhm. You could pull it a little harder, even,” he says, so she does. A small smile curls across his face, and he closes his eyes.

She devests herself of her robes with a final wave of her hand, and then she buries that hand in his hair alongside the first. His hair is long and thick, and although it could probably use a wash, she finds the texture agreeable. She gives it a few more experimental tugs of varying strengths, all of which elicit a variety of quiet moans and sighs from her Champion. 

She spreads her legs and pulls on his hair until he’s resting his cheek on the inside of her thigh. He gives a little yelp as his skin touches hers; she is much colder than him, she knows. He is white-hot against her, like a furnace pressed to her leg. 

Her Champion licks at the top of her thigh, tiny licks that tickle more than anything else. She yanks him by his hair and says, “Longer, slower strokes.”

“You’re cold.”

“My Champion,” she chides. 

Her Champion replies with a long, slow lick over her slit. She digs her nails into his head, and he makes a noise somewhere between a purr and growl, deep in the back of his throat.

He continues with more licks, the flat of his tongue doing no more than tease her with his speed - which is obviously a deliberate misinterpretation of her request. Incredibly cheeky of him. But she is much more patient than he is, and when a few minutes pass without her asking him to amend his pace, he starts his own explorations. 

He slides his tongue between her folds, presses the tip of it until it’s just barely inside of her, and she pushes her hips forward to meet him in an attempt to take his tongue further. She feels him huff out a laugh - the brush of warm air against her sex has her digging in her nails again. The laugh quickly dissolves into a moan.

She keeps him pressed close, his nose digging into her stomach, and cants her hips, moves against his mouth with a slight feeling of frustration as he continues to tease inside her. After a few moments, she feels his hand burn against her thigh, and she lightens her grip. He takes a deep breath as he pulls back, and he opens eyes before looking up at her. From his mouth to his chin is slick and glistening, and there is a huge grin on his face. 

“Enjoying yourself, my Lady?” 

“My beautiful Champion, there are better things you can do with your mouth than be insolent.” 

He takes the cue, puts his mouth around her clit and starts licking and sucking on it, cheeks hollowing as he gives it his full attention. The warmth that had been lazily coiling between her legs escalates and spreads like a wildfire, heat washing over her as she cums. He does not stop, licking her through the oversensitivity, and slight discomfort of it quickly gives way to more heat and pleasure. 

Her Champion’s focused attention does not waver from her clit, but he does slide a finger between her folds, teasing her by pushing in only shallowly. She yanks him by the hair, a little harder than intended, and he lets out noise between a squeak and a yelp, muffled as it is by his current position.  

“What did I say about insolence?”

He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a smart-ass quip, but since she cannot hear exactly what he’s saying, she elects to ignore it. 

“Two fingers. Deep,” she tells him, and he rolls his eyes, but he does as he’s told. His fingers fill her, stretch her, and he searches for the spot that will bring her more pleasure. When he finds it, he crooks his fingers and rubs, makes her feel warm in that floaty way. But she will not cum again for him that easily. He already has a triumphant twinkle in his eyes. It is almost hard to believe he found it difficult to ask for this, that there was any shame or fear in him at all.

He narrows his eyes when it appears she is unaffected by him. He redoubles his efforts, sucks hard, drags barest hint of his teeth across her clit - an action that causes her to claw at him once more. He rubs more insistently inside her, and she very much enjoys the way it winds her up, the promise of another orgasm coiling within her. 

He keeps this course for several minutes, then switches to licking her clit with the broad of his tongue in quick strokes, and he presses a third finger inside of her. She takes one hand out of his hair and runs her fingertips across his cheek, endeared by his efforts. 

“My Champion,” she says, “my Vax’ildan. I think it is time for you to stand.” 

He pulls his head back and does not bother to wipe away the line of spittle that connects his mouth to her. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He twists his fingers out of her, and he stands. He looks down at her, as he is noticeably taller than her when she is in this form. She does not know how she feels about it; maybe she dislikes, maybe she is simply not used to it.

She does not dwell on it. Instead she kisses him, kisses the question “what now?” right off of his lips. She tastes herself on his lips, and she finds herself overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth, of his face so close to her, he radiates like a sun. 

She kisses with a forcefulness near bruising and slides her tongue into his mouth. She feels him shiver a little, though if it’s a chill from her skin or a reaction to her kiss, she cannot tell. She grabs his chin to keep him still and steadily explores his mouth, drawing soft whimpers out of him as she discovers what he likes.

She does not need to breathe, and technically, neither does he, but he grows uncomfortable the longer he goes without air, so eventually she pulls back and lets him take a few breaths. 

He smiles at her. She has never seen him smile so much, but then, such is the nature of mortal men.

“Do you trust me?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, but she does not miss his hesitation.

She untangles her other hand from his hair and lays both hands on his chest, palms down. “Then fall,” she orders, and she pushes him.

She thinks he is going to resist; it would be easy for him to regain his balance. But he falls backwards into the darkness surrounding them, and she is pleased with his obedience, with his faith. She hears him impact, a gentle thump as he lands amongst silken sheets, and she follows him into her bed.

“That was unnecessarily dramatic,”  he says, but he does not seem upset. Quite the opposite, he is already nestled among the pillows, hands buried in the sheets. 

“I learned from you,” she says, and he tilts his head to the side, blinks, then nods. 

She straddles his thighs, and he mumbles, “Shit, you’re cold.” She holds out her hands, and he takes them between his and warms them. 

When her hands are to his liking, she wraps one of them around his cock, and he makes the sweetest noise, a half-choked groan. She positions herself over him and lets the head of cock slide through her folds. 

“You’re fine there, it’s fine, it’s warm, please,” he babbles, and she sinks onto him easily, still slick from his mouth’s attentions. She takes him completely - his cock is a bit longer than she expected, but narrow. She enjoys the depth. 

She sits still for a moment, savoring the fullness. But barely a minute passes before he says, “Please, my Lady, please move.” 

She likes the sound of his begging, of the juxtaposition between it and the smugness he’d felt after making her cum. She moves, but slowly, almost coming off of him before sinking down on him again, and again, at pace that makes him growl and try to buck up into her. She puts her hands on his shoulders and holds him down to keep him from changing her pace. 

When she feels he has learned his lesson for being a tease, she moves faster, and she slides her hands down his chest, runs her fingers over his nipples as she rides him toward the edge. 

He throws an arm over her shoulder and pulls her toward his chest, which changes the angle and slows her down a bit, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and mumbles, “‘m close,”  and then he gives her a few little kisses before he finishes with a muffled shout. He is very vocal, she notes with some amusement. She lets him reach his climax inside her; there is no risk for her as there is for mortal women. 

When he is done, he wastes no time in working a hand between them, in finding her clit and bringing her to another orgasm. She lets the euphoric feeling wash over her, the coiled heat rushing through her veins, before she rolls off of him and lies next to him.

“How do you feel, my Champion?” 

And he grins, of course, though there’s something lighter about this grin. “Good. Tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

She does not bother to remind him that he is already asleep. 

“This is a nice bed,” he murmurs through a yawn. He buries his head in one of the pillows. “I could stay in it forever.”

“Once you pass from your mortal life, you may,” she says, but he is already asleep. She strokes his hair for a few moments more before she lets him go. It is not yet his time.


End file.
